


let go

by theantepenultimateriddle



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: F/F, Fingering, LITERALLY just sex, Post-Canon, forest sex! nature is beautiful kiddos, i think i'm a better write than i am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 11:15:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11804880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theantepenultimateriddle/pseuds/theantepenultimateriddle
Summary: There is safety in revelation and safety in trust and Minkowski trusts her. She hasn’t felt trusted in a long time. She hasn’t felt more wanted or more needed than she does now, when she pulls back and looks into the world of Minkowski’s dark-earth eyes.





	let go

Lovelace takes Minkowski’s shirt off and underneath she is gorgeous, all muscles and smooth, soft skin under Lovelace’s hands. She presses a kiss to Minkowski’s mouth, warm and just slightly wet, then wraps her arms around her and pulls her flush, skin against fabric quickly discarded, then just skin on skin. The sunlight and shadows of the branches make shifting patterns across them, and Lovelace sees Minkowski as her untouchability wears away, the glamour dropped, the divinity draining to leave behind something almost unbearably human. A woman. Nothing but a woman. Lovelace feels her muscles relax, because there is safety in revelation and safety in trust and Minkowski trusts her. She hasn’t felt trusted in a long time. She hasn’t felt more wanted or more needed than she does now, when she pulls back and looks into the world of Minkowski’s dark-earth eyes.

Lovelace moves her hands to Minkowski’s shoulders and holds her gently, but not like she’s fragile, not like she could bruise if touched, because pity and delicacy is not what Minkowski wants and never has been. Lovelace holds her gently for the same reason that Minkowski grips her tight-- she’s afraid of losing the person she has. The woman she loves.

The forest is not an ideal place, but no matter how big the rooms are being indoors always feels like being caged, and they belong out here. _Minkowski_ belongs out here, with the scent of crushed pine needles and the quiet birdsong, blending into the environment as naturally as if she were camouflaged and taking Lovelace blissfully with her.

Lovelace is the first to pull away, moving her mouth away from Minkowski’s and down to her neck, feeling her breath hitch and her heart beat fast. She tastes like sweat, smells like fresh air and deodorant and a faint hint of mint shampoo and lavender soap. With slow, careful movements, Lovelace moves her hands around to Minkowski’s chest, cupping her palms around her as she circles her tongue around the cords of her throat. She is so beautiful like this. So god damned beautiful.

Minkowski gasps and arches her back towards Lovelace’s touch, her breasts pressing into her hands, and moves her own hand up to grab one of Lovelace’s wrists, pushing her hand harder against herself. There is no restraint in her, and there is none in Lovelace as she massages Minkowski, slowly dragging her thumbs over her nipples. For once there’s nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to feel guilty about, nothing that can hurt them. Lovelace sometimes feels like a woman made of dirt and volcanic ash, liable to blow away in the wind, but Minkowski is the growth of flowers in her soul, the reminder that her vulnerability is okay. That she doesn’t always have to be strong. That sometimes Lovelace can step back, and that if she fell there would be someone there to catch her. Lovelace doesn’t know what Minkowski feels as she touches her, but she hopes it’s the same.

The wind rustles through the branches, and Minkowski whispers something that sounds a little like a prayer and a lot more like Lovelace’s name. “Isabel…”

“I’m here,” Lovelace whispers, breathing warm against her. The light filters through Minkowski’s eyelashes and casts fan shadows, making her hair a gold-brushed halo. Lovelace moves her hands down, over Minkowski’s waist, the planes of muscle in her stomach, the waistband of her pants. Slowly she unbuttons them, unzips, moving her mouth further down, over Minkowski’s collarbones, sucking and licking. Lovelace’s heart feels like it’s about to beat out of her chest, and Minkowski is panting, breathing hard and fast and desperate. She shudders under Lovelace's hands, and pulls away to hasten the process of taking her clothes off, stepping out of her pants and underwear. Then she’s back up, her mouth smashing against Lovelace’s so hard their teeth clack painfully together and Lovelace has to pull back for a second. “Ouch.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Minkowski stammers, and Lovelace laughs at the flush in her cheeks, how she puts her hands up to cover them.

“It’s fine, I swear. It’s fine.” Lovelace punctuates the sentence with a kiss, and Minkowski sighs and shudders into her mouth. Then Lovelace finally moves her hands downwards, and the crinkling of the groundcover under their shifting weight and the birds and the rustle of the wind is drowned up by Minkowski’s whimpers. The hair surrounding her groin is curled and coarse, and Lovelace winds her fingers in it, then moves her hand down, letting Minkowski grind against the heel of her hand for a second before curling her fingers, running the very tips over her opening. She’s wet and hot and slick, and Lovelace detaches her mouth to move down further, latching her mouth onto one of Minkowski’s breasts, licking lightly around her as Minkowski hisses through her teeth and makes guttural noises deep in her throat that aren’t quite growls and aren’t quite moans. Lovelace is _dismantling_ her, taking her apart with her hands as she teases around the first few inches of Minkowski, too slowly.

Minkowski moves closer and wraps her arms around Lovelace and digs her nails in. “Go, just go, just go, please,” and Lovelace gets the message, slipping two fingers in and moving them faster, in rhythm to the bucking of Minkowski’s hips.

She takes her mouth off of Minkowski’s chest to kiss her more, talking in-between and feeling the scabs rip off her soul with every word. Her sweet nothings whispered to the beat of their bodies clashing together don’t convey what she really wants to say, but there’s the undertone nonetheless in her voice. _We’ve been through hell together, I’ve met Satan in the souls of people, and you can make me forget how much that hurt. You’re the closest I can get to peace, you’re the blue of the sky, you’re the earth, you let yourself be vulnerable and open up under my hands_ \-- Lovelace crooks her fingers against the ridges of Minkowski’s walls and feels her tremble against the thumb pushed down against the nub of her clit- _you let me touch you and you’ve never been repulsed_. “Thank you for not running away,” Lovelace says, and Minkowski answers in breathless, choppy sentences.

“You’re-” she breaks off into a whine as Lovelace rubs her fingers deep inside her, trying to get the words out of her mouth. “You’re- I’m yours, and I love your touch and you, I love you, Lovelace, Captain,” and Lovelace’s vision goes blurry with tears, spilling over her face as she smiles, because Minkowski _said it_.

“I love you too, Renee.” And then Lovelace hits something inside her and Minkowski cries out wordlessly into the trees, writhing and scratching her hard enough that Lovelace can feel the lines being ripped into her back. She does it again, thrusting them hard against Minkowski, and Minkowski shoves her hips against Lovelace’s hand and calls, begs, her limbs spasming uncontrollably around Lovelace’s body. There’s a whirlwind of sensation- the smell of sex, Minkowski’s hair whipping around her face, the fallen needles from the trees sticking to her body with sweat, and Minkowski relaxes by degrees, riding out the aftershocks on Lovelace’s hands. Then she goes totally limp, and Lovelace withdraws, her fingers shining and wet in the waning light. Minkowski leans back onto the ground, and Lovelace follows, lying on top of her, their breaths in sync. Lovelace speaks first. “Was that okay?” she asks, and her voice trembles because dammit she’s crying. She’s so full of hope and something not quite happy- joy, maybe. Elation. Love, definitely.

Minkowski looks her in the eye, drawing her eyebrows together. “More than okay. Lovelace? Did I- are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

Lovelace snorts lightly in response, wiping her arm across her face and sitting up, straddling Minkowski’s waist. “No. But I need to know. Did you mean it? When you said you loved me?”

Her mouth opens slightly when Lovelace asks, and then she nods. “Of course I did. I love you. Did you mean it when you said it back?”

Lovelace’s heart swells in her chest and she laughs for real this time, beaming down at Minkowski. “I meant it too, don't worry. I love you. I do.”

Minkowski sighs in answer, her body slumping further against the ground. “Thank you.”

“...You’re welcome?” Lovelace draws back and raises an eyebrow slightly, and Minkowski blushes.

“You know what I meant,” she says, and Lovelace does.

**Author's Note:**

> Epilogue: Minkowski has one hell of a case of poison ivy all down her back after this and they decide next time to bring a blanket or something when they want to fuck in the woods.


End file.
